


Hiding

by Kat2107



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat2107/pseuds/Kat2107
Summary: Quinn gets captured by a former associate, a man who knows too much about him.He doesn't know everything. He doesn't know how Quinn learned to survive his life.





	Hiding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [friendlylocalwhumper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlylocalwhumper/gifts).



> Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo. Prompt: Quinn and disassociation  
> Sadly, vacation kept me from writing more but I hope I can get one or two more out now :)  
> This plays in the same 'verse as The Assyrian Tablet Job.
> 
> I am evil. Sorry, Quinn!

Hot gusts of desert dry wind wafted into the house through a broken window,  cooling sweat and blood on the exposed parts of Quinn’s skin like a sickly smelling honey glaze preparing him for a painful roast. 

Painful,  alright. 

Petrovich, Russian mob, very former comrade of Quinn’s and unpleasant fuck to boot, bent forward until drops of his sweat dripped onto Quinn’s face.  The chair Quinn's sat tied to didn’t leave much room to maneuver. He’d love to answer Petrovich’s questions with a good ol’ headbutt but Petrovich wasn’t that dumb. That was a problem. 

So far,  Quinn's had gotten by with not answering his questions at all. It’d gotten him a few new bruises, hurting lungs,  but all of this was still foreplay. It wouldn’t remain that way. The others were too far out. 

Last Quinn knew was that Parker and Eliot were still tied up in a “business meeting” with Petrovich’s boss, trying to get him into a new - fake - pipeline project.

If everything went according to plan, Mitchell would throw money at them that they then would use to make  _ his  _ boss in the mob believe that Mitchell betrayed him. Endgoal, according to Parker, was to buy back a swath of land that included three villages marked for demolition for a coal project. 

Mitchell had illegally seized it with the help of corrupt banks.  For a given amount of “illegal”. The letter of corporate law might not agree with them but the Leverage team strongly believed in moral legality. They were very, very cute that way. 

Neither moral nor legal were standard in Quinn's vocabulary, unlike,  say “Quinn, I need to go with Parker and need someone to watch Hardison.” 

Eliot always assigned himself the more dangerous jobs. Tiny miscalculation on his part this time. 

Hardison was fine, Quinn had drawn them away before they even noticed the van.

Quinn just wished that congratulating himself to a job well done didn't get old so fast. 

 

The land around the abandoned villages was well and truly empty - sand, flat as a board,  impossible to get close without being seen and nobody near enough to hear him scream. He'd lost his earbud pretty early on. 

So far, the fun had been easy. Looking up at Petrovich Quinn knew that was about to change.

He wrecked his brain trying to remember what Petrovich preferred. Not every man was a sick fuck but some just had that certain something - Quinn was no exception - and they all had preferences. 

He thought he remembered that Petrovich had always had a weird love for choking people in combat and training and that he could work with. Hold on until the team arrived. Quinn would bitch that he always got hurt on jobs with them, Eliot would insist he stayed until he was healed,  there would be good food and sex and weird movie nights. It would be alright.

 

Petrovich bent closer, still not close enough for a headbutt.

“There’s always been rumors that you were a faggot, you know that?” he said and Quinn's heart sank. 

He'd been careful, always had to be. A bunch of hyper-testosterone wannabe warriors took homosexuality extremely seriously,  but he’d known that before he had signed up for the Legion. Still better than home. Or the streets. 

But they weren't in the Legion anymore.  

“They said you had something with Antoine.”  _ They  _ had been right but Quinn would do fuck all to tell Petrovich.  Antoine lived in Paris now with his beautiful wife and his adorable three-year-old. Antoine had a safe and stable life doing computer stuff and he and Quinn owed each other too much to drag him into this darkness. Antoine was out. He'd stayed that way. 

Quinn smiled and played up the southern drawl easily with his busted lip. “This ain’t communism, where y’all are equal. I ain’t eatin’ black dick, tovarishtsh.” 

Petrovich’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

They were very hazel. A little on the green side.  Pretty, Quinn thought as if he had never noticed before. 

He hadn't. And with good reason. 

 

Petrovich smiled as he noticed the dangerous hitch in Quinn's breathing.

 

Idle fingers unbuttoned his dress shirt, caressing carelessly along his collarbone. 

_ “We’re gonna have so much fun together,”  _ a voice from his past spoke. A memory of bare walls. Stale beer smell in worn out mattresses. Rough hands. 

“No,” Quinn said. The fingers stilled.

“No what?” Petrovich frowned.

Everything slowed.

He frowned. Quinn knew that.  He saw it, confused lines appearing on the man’s forehead, lips snarling.

The background noise of wind and birds faded into a muted hum. Maybe a low whistling, like the earth baking on a too hot summer’s day when everything withdrew a little from life to outwait the unbearable heat.

Somewhere in the back of Quinn’s mind, a voice translated everything he saw into slow, easily digested bits.

Oh.

Petrovich reached for a burning iron. That would probably hurt.

Not fun then. Good.  

Petrovich’s eyes were very hazel. Green specks on brown as his fingers cut Quinn’s undershirt.

He was cutting the undershirt. Fingers against his skin, like the shadow of something he had once remembered. _Hazel eyes, grunts. Ideas of memories through frosted glass._

Survive.

Someone said something. Quinn said no. Then it hurt.

He should scream. 

He did.

He was very good at surviving.

 

\---

 

He raised his head from the peeling wallpaper. How, he didn't know. No moisture to soften anything. Only his blood.

There was a handprint next to his head. So close. He saw the scar on his ring finger imprinted against the wall.

He’d caught a knife there in…

Click-clack. The door opened. The door is open and they’re coming for yoooou.

He’d need to work on that melody. 

He should be able to judge the distance between the person coming closer and himself. He should prepare. He should attack and try to get out.

He should care. 

By the time Quinn had finished the thoughts, the man stopped and crouched in front of him. A big hand reached out and tipped up his chin. 

Quinn looked into ice-blue eyes. 

The hand curled around Quinn’s neck and pulled him forward, against a strong shoulder and the smell of clean sweat, onions, spices, earth.

“Is he…?” another voice in the background asked and Quinn’s thoughts finally snapped back on a long shuddering exhale against Eliot’s collarbone. 

Suddenly, he was painfully aware of every inch of his exposed skin as his senses rightened themselves. Sound first. Then the cold of the bare floor. Pain. Pain.

Eliot’s arm caught him in a warm embrace. 

“It’s alright. Take your time.”

He knew. He’d seen the distance before. He knew how Quinn started to shiver and curl into himself after. How everything hurt more. Everything. 

“You alright?” Quinn murmured and leaned into the small, warm hand against his shoulder blade. Parker's.

“We’re fine. We got him,” she said the same moment Eliot answered. 

“Petrovich is taken care of. You’re safe.”

Quinn closed his eyes. Safe meant he could break down and crawl into bed and wait until his world and reality had completely realigned themselves. Not yet. 

“Home,” he said, unwilling to test his ability to say more yet. 

When Eliot pulled him to his feet, he needed his strength not to scream.


End file.
